


The First One

by missreala



Category: NiGHTS into Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22917499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missreala/pseuds/missreala
Summary: the very first one
Kudos: 7





	The First One

The child saw the world through a shattered window, trapped on the outside, catching glimpses here and there - his mother's worn hands, the smell of blood when his father returned from the hunt, the foreign tongue their rulers brought from the East. 

There were times of lucidity - his grandfather's tales of war from before the Romans, when they had only the Corieltauvi to the North or the Trinovantes to the South to contend with, seemed to prompt these times. If nothing else, it instilled in him the understanding that conquest could reduce mighty warriors to bitter, defeated old men.

The child could see it, if he couldn't see much else - his grandfather longed for the days when his fight meant something, and his father longed to return this to him. In the child - and in each of his sisters - was a lost hope at returning to the fight. He saw it every day. He saw it in his father's rages, in other children who taunted him only to run in terror when he lifted his gaze to match theirs, in the way his mother only kissed him when his father was gone. He saw it through the visions that crowded his senses every moment, drowning out the real world - visions of people and places he'd never seen, nightmarish creatures he'd stopped attempting to describe when his father's fists failed to chase them from his mind.

Then came the day that the Easterners had taken the child at the order of a man they called a scientist, and no one had stopped them. In their own city, the scientist would take him by the hand and walk with him through the city at night, stopping near certain houses, asking him more questions than anyone ever had. Talking to him day after day, making his little marks on parchment. 

"It is so difficult to talk to you at night." the scientist had remarked to him, adjusting his odd, light clothes.

"See them more, night." was the child's attempt at an explanation in his broken Latin. His voice seemed to stay small no matter how tall his scrawny body became, barely more audible than a whisper.

The scientist tapped his fingers on the table absent-mindedly.

"Have you been trying the techniques we discussed?"

The child nodded.

"Building a body for yourself in the..... hidden world that accosts you? I was wondering, as you've demonstrated an ability to alter even my own dreams......."

The child closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands, tuning out the scientist's rambling hypothesis. He let the vision in this time, able to willingly navigate to the area where he'd left the body. While the frequency of the visions had not slowed, his control over what he was shown had vastly improved with the scientist's suggestions. 

After some time traversing the shadowy beach, he found it. White and copper like the dress of the high born ladies he saw in the neighboring garden at times, enjoying freedoms and companionship that he himself had never been privy to. Yes, he'd had no trouble *creating* the body - at this point, he could meld matter here like it was clay. The part he didn't understand was how he was supposed to step inside. He sighed frustratedly. As though in greeting, he grasped one of the clawed hands.

And then it happened.

It felt as though something he couldn't see had grabbed ahold of his heart within his chest. The body fell into the beach, pulling him behind - they shattered through the sand and stone as though it were a mirror. The minimal awareness the child had been preserving of the scientist's ramble and their room in Rome whirled away. The child screamed as they free fell through the darkness, the wind roaring deafeningly in his ears. Whatever had a grasp on him pulled harder and harder and he let it, willing the terrible fall to stop - finally he felt a sensation as though a small sliver of himself had been pulled clean out of him, and it was at this break that the fall suddenly stopped.

The child found himself standing as though he'd never been falling at all - he wobbled and fell over immediately, his hands finding cold, dewy grass instead of the warm sand he'd expected. Looking around frantically, he realized he was nowhere near the beach, but instead in a forest of his birthplace, the surrounding trees partially swallowed by fog. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, tearing up a handful of grass in frustration. This wasn't good, this was just like the old days when he had no control at a-

He opened his eyes again and realized he was not alone. A stark white figure hovered a few feet away, facing away from him. She gingerly touched her face, as though she wasn't sure if it were really there. 

She whirled around suddenly, so fast that the child started. Rows of sharp teeth were exposed in a wide grin, and her bright pink eyes were shining with tears. She lunged at him, and before he could escape, he found himself being squeezed nearly to a point of suffocation in her embrace. 

"Thank you so much for creating me." she sobbed, nuzzling his hair. She was speaking in his own tongue. "Please, tell me what I can do to repay you."

This reminded the child of something he had once had a long, long time ago, even if it was only when his father was gone. He returned the embrace suddenly, gripping his creation's arm.

"Don't betray me, ever."


End file.
